


For Whose Coffee I Trip and Fall

by Junoro, Yeetmeaway



Series: Twisted: A Horror Romance Collection [2]
Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junoro/pseuds/Junoro, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetmeaway/pseuds/Yeetmeaway
Summary: Every universe deserves a coffeeshop AU. The harsh, unrelenting world of For Whose Love I Rise and Fall most definitely deserves a nice, calm place where Natasha and Steve can be barista and vampire businessman. This is an unfinished AU, set far away from hordes of the undead, and instead takes place in Starbucks.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Series: Twisted: A Horror Romance Collection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2202336
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	For Whose Coffee I Trip and Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [For Whose Love I Rise and Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21417406) by [Yeetmeaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetmeaway/pseuds/Yeetmeaway). 



Three in the morning. This was the witching hour, her grandmother had always said. Natasha stood behind the counter at the coffeeshop and made a smudge on the glass of the display case with her finger, and then wiped it with her rag. She looked around the cozy shop, which was devoid of even just one university student pulling an all-nighter. With a sigh, she smudged the display case again.

Witching hour was boring.

It was only the second week of graveyard shifts, but the idea of doing this again was beginning to grate on her nerves. The patter of rain outside was probably the main reason business was so slow tonight. Sure, people came in throughout the week, but it was usually the sort of clientele that placed complicated orders and left miserable tips. The bell at the door jingled, and Natasha prepared to face another such customer.

He walked briskly into the café, holding his briefcase over his head. Probably a lawyer, or maybe some businessman. Nat put on a smile as he dropped the bag to his side and stopped at the counter without looking at her. “Straight black Americano,” he said.

“Your name?” Nat asked, holding a pen to his cup.

“Steven,” he replied tersely, shoving wet hair back from his face. Under a furrowed brow and blue eyes were dark circles.

If it wasn’t for the murder in his eyes, he’d almost look kind of cute. Natasha scribbled the name and got to work. “Forget your umbrella today?”

Steve scoffed and took a mass of wire and black fabric from under his arm. “Where is your garbage?” He placed the broken umbrella on the counter and eyed her. _Does he really expect me to throw out his garbage?_

“By the door,” she gestured, turning her back to him. As soon as she did, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. _Calm down, it’s just another entitled rich guy._ She turned back around, shooting him a glance. He was staring at her. His lips quirked into a smirk.

Natasha placed his drink on the counter, stepping back to see if he’d do… something. Steve looked at the drink. “You spelled it right,” he said. Was he trying to make a joke, or jab at her intelligence? He went to the door. One last look at her over his shoulder, and he smiled. Natasha sucked in a breath.

He had sharp teeth. He was out into the rain before she could convince herself it was all a dream. Natasha’s eyes fell to the counter, where his broken umbrella remained. Carefully, she took it by the handle. A business card fluttered out of the fabric folds, with a series of numbers scrawled on the back. It was a phone number. She stared out at the rainy street, and dumped the umbrella into the trash can. For a moment, she looked at the card, and then shook her head with a quiet laugh, dropping it in the trash as well.

The second time Steve came in, he had a new umbrella. Natasha stood up a little straighter as he walked in, the bell heralding his entrance. She tried adopting a casual posture, but her eyes couldn’t help but land on his pursed lips. This time, he deigned to look at her before he came up to the counter. He opened his mouth, and Natasha took a leap. “Straight black Americano?” she asked.

Surprise flickered across his face, and he nodded. Natasha scribbled his name onto a cup and turned around, grateful that her coworker was in the other room on their break. Sure enough, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she filled out his order. _Probably because he’s a vampire._ The reasoning didn’t help much. Usually, every tidbit of information a customer revealed was more ammunition that she could use to make small talk. But how did one small talk with a vampire? She swallowed, and looked at him. He braced himself on the counter with his elbows, watching her. “You get a new umbrella?” she asked.

His lips curled up in a smile, showing an entire row of pointy white teeth. Nat swallowed again and looked back to his order. Vampires weren’t _uncommon_ , exactly. It was more that they shrouded themselves in mystery, like celebrities who could kill any paparazzi who got on their nerves. Almost like some sort of Illuminati, except they didn’t seem keen on running the world, either. It was very likely that other customers who had come through these doors were also bloodsuckers.

None of them seemed to so obviously enjoy being a vampire quite like this guy, though.

“Here you go,” she said brightly, sliding his cup across the counter. He turned it around to look at her handwriting on the side.

“My name is Steven,” he said. “I’d like a new cup.”

 _Excuse me?_ Nat smiled, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, is that so?” She took the cup and added an ‘N’ to the end of his name. “Here.”

Satisfied, he stood, and then walked to a tiny table in the corner and proceeded to sit there for the rest of her shift.

* * *

It was a long time before Natasha saw Steve— or Steven or whatever the hell he was called— again. She was busy with her dissertation, car troubles, boyfriend troubles, and her mom kept calling her, needling her about what she was going to do after grad school. Her manager understood, covering a few of her shifts when she needed to pull some all-nighters to finish papers, but Natasha was feeling the strangling pressure of looming debt. Especially after she had just paid her rent.

So Natasha picked up as many night shifts as she could tolerate. It gave her a chance to work on other things. No one came in anyway. She could do this.

She could definitely do this.

Natasha was into her fourth graveyard shift this week. She had had class all day, napped for two hours, took her car into the shop, called her mom, fought with her boyfriend _again_ , cried when he walked out in a rage, and then rolled into work late. To say she was dead on her feet was generous.

Her eyes felt like sandpaper covered by sticky swollen lids. She was certain that she looked like hell, but it was crunch time and her appearance was the last of her worries. It was going on three in the morning and Natasha busied herself with straightening the knick knacks on the shelves. She had her music in, humming absently along with it as she tilted a little glass cat askew before straightening it again. When the door jingled, announcing the arrival of a customer, she didn’t hear it, too preoccupied with trying to stay awake.

Hips swaying with the beat of her music, Natasha half-sang, half-mumbled as she fumbled to keep up with the words. She jerked her fingers in a disco-like move, picking up a ceramic bird from the shelves and holding it to her lips like a microphone. The music swelled and she twirled, finishing her big solo only to find Steve standing in the doorway, watching her with an awed amusement. With a strangled cry of surprise Natasha tossed the bird, trying to rip her earbuds from her ears at the same time. For an awful moment, the knick knack bird flew, soaring through the early morning air.

She must’ve been tired, because she didn’t see Steve move, but now he held it, inspecting it idly. He was much closer than he had been moments ago. She blinked, her eyes threatening to stay shut. Had he always been this tall? There was usually a counter between them, but standing this close to him now, Natasha felt very small. Steve leveled his piercing blue gaze on her, a trace of amusement on his face and placed the little bird on the counter. Natasha’s brain kicked into gear, processing, very slowly, what had just happened. She didn’t have to think to speak though, her retail training took care of that.

“Hello sir, what can I get for you?” she parroted like an autonomous idiot.

Steve actually chuckled at that. Taking a step back to the register, he smiled, revealing pointed teeth. “My usual.”

Natasha didn’t remember walking behind the counter, but here she was. Steve was wearing a dark peacoat. It reminded her of the one that her boyfriend left at her apartment. Ex-boyfriend. Probably. Only his was from a chain store. Natasha had been there when he bought it. Steve’s very clearly was not. It probably cost more than her rent. And he looked much smarter in it than her boyfriend ever had… She realized she was staring when Steve impatiently drummed his fingers on the counter.

“What?” she said, snapping herself from her bog of thoughts.

“My usual,” Steve said slowly, like she was stupid.

“Sure,” she said flatly, turning to mechanically fumble with the machines.

Steve watched her a minute before he sighed and placed a fifty dollar bill on the counter. She had forgotten to have him pay.

”Keep the change,” he said. He then turned and took a seat in the corner armchair, withdrawing a newspaper and opening it to read like some kind of old person.

She sighed and put the crisp note in the register. Three more hours and she was done. Three more hours. Natasha swayed on her feet, exhausted. She could do this. She could definitely do this. Three more hours, then class, then this again.

Lightheaded, Natasha gripped the counter to steady herself. Maybe a nap somewhere in there if she could swing it. Steve’s Americano was finished and Natasha robotically thought to bring it over, not wanting to disturb him. If she could keep moving, she could make it for three more hours. Lurching forward, she unsteadily brought Steve his coffee. Or she tried to, but mostly just tripped over her own feet and spilled it all over him.

Steve leapt from his seat with a cry. Natasha imagined it must’ve burned him and she apologized. At least, she thought that was what she was saying. Steve angrily turned on her, and his— oh his teeth seemed very sharp. He was saying something. She could see his mouth moving, but the room tilted dangerously and she couldn’t hear. Natasha’s eyes rolled back and she collapsed.

****

She awoke, dazed, at home. Her boyfriend held her. He had come back. Tears pricked her eyes and she snuggled into him, nestling her forehead against his neck and wrapping her arms around him tightly. If he gave her a chance, she knew she could do better. She would be the best girlfriend in the whole world after her dissertation was finished. She would stop neglecting him, she could be home more often. Natasha breathed in his scent, coming back to herself gradually.

He smelled clean, a little like soap, a lot like... Americano. Oh.

_Oh._

Shit.

Natasha pulled back, heat flushing her face and turning it what she was certain was a lovely shade of beet as she opened her eyes and had her worst fears confirmed. She was still in the coffee shop. She had fainted after spilling coffee on a rich vampire. In doing so, she had ruined his nice clothes. He caught her? His arms around her back seemed to confirm this— And she responded by clinging to him like the loser ex-girlfriend that she was.

Presently, Natasha’s mouth hung open as she wordlessly tried to formulate some kind of response. Nothing, not even her retail brain could save her now. Steve seemed… a little mad (understandable), a little concerned (also understandable), a little… shy? (weird). He shifted away from her, hand still at her back as if he was worried she might faint again.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” she blurted, the red in her face deepening, creeping down her neck, spreading to her ears. She wasn’t tired now, that was for sure. Steve glanced down at her, from this distance Natasha noticed how long his eyelashes were. The way they framed his deep blue eyes.

“It’s Steven,” he corrected as he stood, carefully helping Natasha to her feet.

She couldn’t even get that right. Tucking her hair behind her ear, Natasha looked away to hide the tears that threatened to spill over. “Sorry,” she mumbled quietly.

Steve helped her into a chair and Natasha pressed her palms into her eyes, exhausted. He was quiet for a moment. The beat of silence was nearly unbearable and Natasha swallowed hard. “But I don’t mind if you call me Steve,” he said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Yeetmeaway here! 
> 
> This wonderful piece is the brainchild of my good friend and beta reader, Junoro. She wrote this while I was working on For Whose Love after we were joking about the comfort of a coffee shop AU, especially after the drama I put her through reading For Whose Love lol. 
> 
> The first half is her work, and I wrote the last half (you maybe can tell by the amount of — em dashes that suddenly appear lol) 
> 
> Will this ever be finished? For now, I don’t know. But please enjoy the first part anyway :)


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